


Scars

by Sniffing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Picnics, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, hurt/comfort?, trigger warning: mentions of past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sniffing/pseuds/Sniffing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron is embarrassed of his scars, and Harry might be able to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a bit of rarry in my life to help de-stress during midterms week, but I swear I've read every rarry fic ever written, so I had to write my own. I edited myself so sorry for any grammatical/spelling errors. I'm so tired

**Scars**

            Ron opened his wardrobe and carefully examined his choices. _No, no, not that one, not long enough_. He pulled out shirt after shirt. All short sleeved. Dammit. He threw on an old tee with the washed out logo of his favorite band, and snuck a raggedy long sleeved flannel from George’s room. His hair, being frizzy from the humidity, seemed to be untamable even with the most potent of Sleekeazy’s potions.

            He opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a small hand mirror. It was the only one he knew of that he had affectively keep hidden from George, who now had a habit of punching reflective surfaces until they shatter. However, not wanting to distress an already unpredictable twinless twin, a unanimous decision to cover mirrors was put into place.

            He stared into the glass, at his body. A feeling of disgust hit his throat like a punch. He could point out a million _very obvious_ things wrong with him. Anywhere from his stupid freckles to how raggedy and old his clothes looked. His grey jeans had holes worn in them from years of rough usage, and his sage green high tops were falling apart. How could he impress his lover looking like that?

            But the worst was yet to come. Ron rolled up the sleeves of his flannel and examined his arms. The evidence of feeling inferior his entire life physically manifested itself on the inside of his forearms in raised pink and white train tracks. Not to mention the swirl-like lacerations from the thoughts and the splinching scar on his shoulder. Despite all scars being thoroughly healed and rather old now, it was still a hideous sight to behold.

            Ron sighed, deciding that there was nothing more he could do to improve his appearance, and met Harry downstairs.

            Harry and Ron were an inseparable duo. They’d seen each other through thick and thin, despite having a few rough patches along the way. It was soon after the war ended that Harry had confessed his love for Ron, and Ron, who had for years harbored feelings for his best friend, happily agreed to become more than friends with him.

            But still, Ron felt as though he were inferior to Harry. His lover got all of the press and the attention from adoring fans. It was almost as if he didn’t exist. He simply had his face on a chocolate frog card, and was sometimes mentioned in an article here and there along with Harry. Really, he should be more grateful for not being dogged by journalists, but he couldn’t help be feel a tinge of jealousy.

            “Hey, Ron!” Harry called from where he leaned on the counter. He was wearing a short sleeved grey button-up that made his pretty green eyes pop. Ron always thought Harry had the prettiest eyes of anyone he’d ever known.

            Ron gave Harry a half smile and felt his heart skip a beat as the small man shot back an empathetic smile.

            Harry reached for Ron’s hand, “Ready to go? I packed the lunch for us.”

            “Yeah,” murmured Ron, who was more preoccupied by the possibility of disappointing Harry on their picnic date.

            The two took off, hand in hand, into the field towards the woods. The other day, Ron had suggested taking Harry out on a picnic. Harry, having never been on one before, eagerly agreed to it and began planning relentlessly. Ron had mentioned that he knew of a spot in the woods near the Burrow that would be perfect.

            They soon arrived at a very large and very old ash tree. It’s thick and lumpy trunk split into two about three feet above the ground, a perfect place for both of them to sit and eat their lunch. Harry hopped into the crook of the tree, making him look even smaller, and beckoned Ron to join him. Reluctantly, Ron climbed on opposite of Harry, placing the basket of food on his lap.

            The two ate their lunch in silence. Every now and then, Harry would give Ron an odd glance.

            “Why do you keep looking at me like that, mate?” Ron asked quietly.

            Harry cocked his head, “Well, you’re awful quiet. Is something the matter?”

            Ron felt his stomach twist and was sure it looked to Harry as though he had just died and became a ghost, “No, what could be wrong?”

            “I know you too well, Ron. You’re wearing long sleeves again. It’s practically 30 degrees out! It’s absurd! Plus I told you I didn’t want you to wear them,” cried Harry.

            Ron instinctively drew his arms around his chest, and said in a near whisper, “I’m sorry.”

            Harry shifted so that he was next to Ron and laced his fingers gently between Ron’s. The redhead couldn’t help but stare deeply into Harry’s eyes, as if he were searching hungrily for something he couldn’t even identify. How did he get such a beautiful person to fall in love with him? It was perhaps the only thing he’d done right. Ron gazed at Harry’s deep olive face—a large contrast from his pale green eyes—and felt himself melt away.

            “Here, let’s take this off,” Harry said with slight determination. He reached around to the flannel and attempted to tug it off, but Ron turned away.

            “I—really, I—why would you want to look at them? They’re… they’re hideous,” said Ron as he pulled his arms even closer against his chest.

            Harry grabbed Ron’s face gently and he felt the smaller man’s intense gaze burn into his skull. “Look at me, Ron. I don’t want you to ever say that again. It hurts me to know that you think of yourself that way. I think you’re beautiful, Ron, and I love you so much. As long as you love yourself too, that’s all that matters.”

            Ron smiled deeply and pulled Harry closer, “I’m trying, Harry, I’m really trying.”

            “Now, take that flannel off. You don’t need to be wearing something like that in this heat,” Harry persuaded gently. Tentatively, Ron slid the flannel off his shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground. He felt naked with his arms exposed for the world to see, but Harry had already taken one into his hands and kissed his inner wrist, right over a particularly bothersome self-inflicted scar. Ron stroked Harry’s hair, which he found to be pleasantly soft.

            The smaller boy pulled himself onto Ron’s chest, seeming pretty self-satisfied as he smiled to himself. The Weasley felt himself blush intensely, and wrapped his arms around Harry’s delicate frame.

            “Hey, I think my arse is asleep. Let’s get more comfortable,” said Ron as he softly pushed the man on his chest off and slid to the ground up against the trunk of the tree. Harry followed suit. The two then intertwined again, Harry straddling Ron’s hips, cupping his face in his hands and kissing passionately. Ron laced his fingers into his lover’s hair and attempted to deepen the kiss. He quickly became more desperate for more contact and pulled Harry closer—every inch of their torsos touching, much to Ron’s pleasure. He moaned into Harry’s mouth and pulled away from the kiss.

            “Are we heading _that_ way, or are we going to snog? Just for clarity,” Ron asked.

            Harry rubbed his arm and pressed a small kiss on his lips, “Whatever you want to do is fine by me.” Ron decided to let things naturally progress and pulled Harry down to his mouth for more kissing. After a couple more seconds, the time felt right, and Ron slowly unbuttoned Harry’s shirt, worshipping every inch of Harry’s golden chest.

            With Harry in his arms, Ron felt as if he were home.

           

            Harry laid panting on the grass curled up closely to Ron.

            “You’re good at that,” the redhead laughed.

            Harry burrowed his head into the crook of Ron’s neck, “You think so?”

            “Definitely. Thanks—for everything I mean. I guess it’s kind of tough for me to say stuff like this out loud because I’m afraid of it sounding insincere, but I love you so much,” Ron whispered, engulfing Harry in his arms.

            “I’m so glad. I hope you see me as a reason to start being more kind to yourself and your body,” Harry adjusted so that he was looking Ron in the eyes, “I know it can be tough for you, but you’ve already made a lot of progress.” He rubbed the scars on Ron’s forearm.

            The red head snuggled closely to his lover and squeezed lightly as if to say ‘I’m trying so hard, for you.’

            The two slept under the tree, Harry’s back pressed against Ron’s chest, fitting so perfectly—like a puzzle piece. Despite the hot air, the cool ground and the shade made everything bearable. Self-love is a long journey to partake in, but together, they could do it, putting each other back together along the way. As long as Harry was by Ron’s side, he would work towards that goal.

 

~ _fin_


End file.
